I try very hard — and perhaps even succeed sometimes — not to be a snob about too many things.
But one of the things I readily acknowledge being a snob about is diners.
When you grow up in a small town in upstate New York, you learn to appreciate a proper diner. I even worked in one in high school, making money for insurance on my first car.
The best ones have regulars, preferably ones who always seem to be there at the same time and always sit together, without ever planning it.
The staff and customers know each other by name, and — this is important — customers should be able to refill their own coffee, no questions asked.